The Darkness Drops Again
by elemesnedene
Summary: The Dark Lord has risen again, and Snape must return to his former master. Story will focus on Snape's missions for the Order and his interactions with the Death Eaters. Flashbacks will chronicle his acceptance of the Mark and subsequent training. DARKfic
1. The Call To War

**The Darkness Drops Again**

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Okay, here's the deal. I love drama, but I don't usually write it. I've decided to try this, and I don't know whether I'll continue it. I'd really like to, but I'm pretty busy. And it partially depends on the response I receive. I'll put up a couple of chapters and see what happens. If I decide to continue this story, it will be a massive undertaking. It begins on the night of Voldemort's return, and it will (ideally) end with Snape's death. There will also be several flashbacks (especially within the first few chapters) that cover events such as Snape's decision to take the Mark and the personal training he received from Voldemort and the other Death Eaters. Unless I mess something up accidentally (in which case I'll try to fix it if you point it out to me), this fic will be compliant with all seven books. 

Those of you who enjoy poetry or have read my other fics may recognize the title of this story as a line from William Butler Yeats' poem, _The Second Coming_. (I've been obsessed with that poem for well over ten years.)

**Word Of Warning**: This will be a _**dark**_ fic. Although I never doubted his loyalty to Dumbledore, I don't adopt a particularly optimistic view of Snape as a person. Many fanfic writers depict him as a character who made a mistake, got in over his head, and then turned his back on it all (except to do his job as a spy, of course). But in my opinion, the fact that he ultimately did the right thing (and was capable of love) does _not_ automatically make him a virtuous person. I will portray Snape as a man who was awed by Voldemort, seduced by the Dark Arts, and willingly immersed himself in an atmosphere of evil. If the level of violence in this fic increases dramatically (which it probably will), I'll be forced to change the rating from "T" to "M."

**Disclaimer**: None of this is mine – not even the title of my story (alas and alack!).

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**Chapter 1: The Call To War**

**.1.**

_He's calling._

Severus Snape grimaced and clutched his left arm in surprise. He'd been expecting this. He'd _known_ it was going to happen. But acknowledging the inevitable on an _intellectual_ level isn't equivalent to coming to terms with it _emotionally_. The Dark Lord had risen again, just as Dumbledore had foreseen. If not for the undeniable evidence of his imminent return in the form of the increasing clarity of the Mark, Snape wouldn't have believed it possible.

Everything would change. No… everything had _already_ changed – in that one surreal instant, made tangible by the burn of the Mark, the world had been utterly transformed. Karkaroff would flee. Muggle-borns would go into hiding. Families would be destroyed – either torn apart in a literal sense by murder, or fractured from within by conflicting allegiances.

_And the world became less than it was_, he mused silently.

He released his arm quickly and ensured that his expression remained impassive. Without turning his head, he glanced at the wizards and witches nearest to him, trying to determine whether they had noticed his brief, involuntary reaction to the Dark Lord's call. No one looked troubled. They had no need to feel concerned. They were happy and excited – eagerly awaiting the outcome of what was, ultimately, a very trivial contest. In all likelihood, it would be a long time before the people around him saw or accepted the truth. For him, however, denial was hardly a viable option.

But he did not envy their blissful ignorance. It would betray them in the end.

He scanned the crowd, searching for Dumbledore. When his eyes found the Headmaster, he discovered that Dumbledore was watching him attentively. It was as if he was already aware. Had he somehow _sensed_ the Dark Lord's return? Snape gazed deeply into his eyes, willing him to understand what had transpired. After a few seconds, Dumbledore nodded fractionally and turned away.

There was nothing to do but wait.

It was a long wait, and anxiety quickly set in. Accustomed though he was to frustrating delays, this situation was undoubtedly unique. It required great force of will to avoid fidgeting and sighing with impatience. His mind wandered aimlessly, and his thoughts acquired a manic quality. He wasn't sure how much longer he could bear it…

And then they appeared.

Potter and the other boy. Cheers erupted from the stands, and everyone leapt to their feet. Snape stood immediately and squinted his eyes at the front of the maze. Potter was weeping openly, and Diggory was still. Too still. Snape thrust his way through the bustling crowd, which was gradually realizing that something was very wrong. Mixed with the cheers were screams and gasps. And soon, the cheering died away altogether, replaced by the sounds of panicked shrieks and disconsolate sobbing.

By the time Snape pushed his way through the crowd, Dumbledore was already kneeling over Potter. The first words out of his mouth were spoken in a choked whisper: "He's back! He's back. Voldemort."

Despite Snape's anticipation of this information, Potter's words sent a chill up his spine. They were spoken so despairingly and with such certainty – it made the reality of the Dark Lord's return seem all too concrete. Shouts of, "He's dead! Diggory's dead!" went up throughout the crowd. While Dumbledore attempted to persuade Potter to release Diggory's body, Snape fought off his own dizziness and alarm and turned back to the crowd, which was quickly descending into chaos. For long minutes, he absorbed himself in the task of controlling the horrified observers, until Dumbledore called his name.

"Severus!"

Snape turned abruptly to look at the Headmaster

"Come! It's Alastor – he's taken Harry."

Snape nodded curtly. The urgency in his voice brooked no argument. Dumbledore left the other professors in charge of the crowd while Snape and McGonagall rushed to accompany him.

**.1.**

Hours later, Snape was changing into robes he hadn't worn in 13 years. He was duly disturbed by the night's events. It had been Crouch all along! That twisted little bastard! And Fudge was a fool – it was hardly surprising that he had refused to listen to reason. He was in denial, and he would do everything in his power to guarantee that the rest of the wizarding world remained oblivious. And now Snape had to work alongside Sirius Black? What a disaster.

But he pushed those trivial concerns to the back of his mind. Dumbledore had ordered him to run several errands, and as a result, he was dangerously late. The Dark Lord would be _very_ displeased. Snape had assured Dumbledore that he was prepared, but that statement wasn't entirely true. Though he knew what he had to do and felt confident in his abilities, he was afraid. But the fear he felt had little to do with the promise of physical torture. His fears were more abstract. He was returning to the man he had willingly made his master – the man whose beliefs and deeds were integrally intertwined with Snape's identity. Both teacher and tormentor. Paradoxically loathed and venerated.

Unwilling to waste additional time by traveling to the Hogwarts gates, he approached the fire in his quarters and flooed to his house in Spinner's End. Then he brushed the ashes off his robes and donned his mask. He hesitated for only a moment before pressing his fingers against the Mark on his left forearm. For several seconds, there was no response, and Snape stood in his living room rigidly, queasy with apprehension.

Then the Mark burned for the second time that evening, and he promptly Disapparated.

**.1.**

As the loud crack of his Apparation resounded throughout the silent graveyard, the gathered Death Eaters turned to look at him. For a moment, Snape was struck by the visceral terror in the atmosphere. He walked forward determinedly, and his comrades parted for him slowly. As his path cleared, he saw the Dark Lord for the first time in 13 years. Cold red eyes glared at him contemptuously – eyes capable of expressing neither mercy nor pity. Those eyes _knew_ him. Despite the mask, he knew that his identity was secret only to his fellow Death Eaters. Staggered by the palpable aura of power projected by the dark wizard, Snape stopped in his tracks, momentarily unable to continue his approach. After a few seconds, when Voldemort made no move to speak, Snape willed himself into motion. When he came within approximately 10 feet of his master, he halted again. Overwhelmed with emotion and overawed by the presence of the Dark Lord, he fell roughly to his knees.

Though he carefully concealed the _specific_ contents of his thoughts, he made no appreciable attempt to repress his emotions – there was no need. As long as the Dark Lord could not discern the details and implications of his sentiments, they were of no detriment to him. The flood of emotions which raced through Snape at that moment were expected: Fear, excitement, awe, avidity. The absence of such feelings would be considered _unusual_ at best, and suspicious at worst.

He bowed his head in a genuine show of deference, and the manifest reverence with which he regarded his master was far from contrived. Trembling imperceptibly with trepidation and exhilaration, he raised his head and gazed intently into the cruel eyes of the Dark Lord. Fighting to keep the tremor from his voice, his words came out in a harsh rasp:

"My Lord…"

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**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	2. The First Assignment

**The Darkness Drops Again**

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Thanks for the reviews, guys! And I see two of my wonderful, faithful reviewers (from my other fics) have wandered over here. Bless you. ;) This is a longer chapter. Mostly dialogue. I feel like the first few chapters of this fic may move rather slowly. I'm trying to set a lot of things up, and I'm sort of groping around in the dark… As I said, I'm not accustomed to writing drama. Not sure I'm fit for it. Ah, well. I hope you keep reading anyway! 

**NOTE**: This is the first of several flashbacks, and you may notice an inconsistency here: I will be using Snape's first name. This is intentional – before he takes the Mark, he'll be "Severus," and afterward, he'll be referred to as "Snape." And according to JKR, Snape's birthday is January 9, 1960, so I hope I've got my dates correct.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Oh well.

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**Chapter 2: The First Assignment**

_(June, 1976)_

**.2.**

"So young… yet so full of hate."

Severus held his breath and said nothing. Lucius had warned him to keep his mouth shut unless the Dark Lord presented him with a direct question. He seemed almost as worried and apprehensive about this meeting as Severus did. He had jabbered for hours about protocol and rules and etiquette and regulations... It had been somewhat nerve-wracking (and extremely annoying). But Severus couldn't really blame him. If something went wrong, Lucius would pay for it dearly. It was _his_ decision to bring him before the Dark Lord.

"Or… is it simply anger?" asked Voldemort softly.

Now _that_ was a direct question. Severus searched his mind frantically for the right answer. Hatred or anger? What did that mean? He was expected to hate muggle-borns and blood traitors, so surely "hatred" was the correct response? But he was angry, too – about… everything. And he'd always heard that the Dark Lord _knew_ when people were lying. So he couldn't deny it even if he wanted to. And what was wrong with admitting that he was angry...?

"It is… both, my Lord," he answered cautiously.

"Is it? I sense anger, certainly... But the feelings you call 'hatred' are too mercurial… inadequate."

"I… I don't understand, my Lord."

"There is a difference, Severus, between hatred and anger. Anger may fade or be transferred from one entity to another. It is, therefore, unreliable and unsuitable for my needs. But hatred – true hatred – is _pure_. It lacks all fluidity. It is constant, pervasive, undeniable. It compels you. It commands you. It makes you _powerful_. It is this capacity for hatred – this pure, unadulterated passion – which I require from my servants. It _binds_ them to me."

Severus didn't know what to say. He needed the Dark Lord's approval so _badly_. He couldn't bear to be rejected… _again_. "Please, my Lord... I believe I can provide everything you require."

Voldemort closed his eyes pensively for a few seconds. Then he asked, "_Whom_ or _what_ do you hate, Severus?"

His mind immediately flew to James Potter, but surely that was the wrong answer? "Mudbloods. Muggles. Blood trait—"

His voice faltered and failed as Voldemort began to laugh – a high, cold, mocking laugh. "Your thoughts betray you, young Slytherin. You give me the answer you believe I desire. But your hatred – if it is indeed hatred at all – lies elsewhere. Speak honestly. Whatever your feelings may be, I will not fault you for them. I require only the truth."

His _thoughts_ betrayed him? Then lying was pointless. But surely the Dark Lord would scorn him if he admitted that the real object of his hatred was one of his _classmates_. It would seem childish – he would undoubtedly view it as a petty, insignificant rivalry. But, apparently, lying would accomplish nothing. He remained silent and looked at Voldemort doubtfully. He had always heard that the Dark Lord was impatient and demanding, yet he sat there calmly – quietly waiting and gazing at Severus serenely: the very picture of patience.

Finally, he answered, "…Potter. James Potter."

"A classmate?"

Voldemort's tone was neutral, but Severus flinched – this was exactly what he'd been afraid the Dark Lord would say. Just a classmate. A stupid childhood rivalry. He must be so disappointed…

"He has harmed you grievously," said Voldemort thoughtfully.

As he said this, Severus noticed something peculiar, something he'd never felt before – it was like a cold, prickling sensation around the edges of his brain. Odd… How had the Dark Lord known how deeply James Potter had hurt him? It was no secret that Potter had taunted and tormented him, of course, but Severus's real reason for hating him was much more complicated and abstruse. How could the Dark Lord _possibly_…?

Suddenly, a word read long ago and half forgotten flashed through his mind: _Legilimency_. The Dark Lord could see _inside his head_. Horrified at the thought that Voldemort might discover his deepest secrets – one in particular – Severus forced his mind to go blank. Intuitively, he averted his eyes and pushed away every thought and emotion which might betray him. He stared at the ground blankly, eyes slightly unfocused as he concentrated on shielding his thoughts.

"Interesting," said Voldemort quietly as he withdrew from Severus's mind. "You have studied Occlumency?"

"No, my Lord," said Severus in a rather distracted tone. He was so absorbed with the need to protect his mind that he gave little consideration to the more immediate _physical_ consequences he might experience if the Dark Lord decided he was being insufficiently attentive.

"No? Then it is a natural aptitude… An ability which will undoubtedly prove useful – perhaps to both of us..."

Severus maintained his silence. He was struggling to find a more effective way of hiding his thoughts; after all, he couldn't very well walk around with a vacuous expression on his face for the rest of his life. And perhaps it was unwise to let the Dark Lord _know_ that he was concealing something… Maybe if he could find a way to hide _only_ the thoughts that might prove dangerous – then he could allow Voldemort _limited_ access to his mind without fear. All he needed to do was shut away the "incriminating" information... But the Dark Lord was still talking, and Severus couldn't focus properly.

"How old are you, Severus?"

"Sixteen, my Lord."

"Then you have not yet begun your sixth year at Hogwarts?"

"No, my Lord."

"Lucius," said Voldemort sharply, still not taking his eyes off Severus, "you have brought me a mere child."

Severus jumped a bit at the mention of his friend's name. He had forgotten that Lucius had come to observe.

"He is indeed young, my Lord," said Lucius nervously as he stepped out of the shadows. "But I believe you will find him equal to your needs. I would not have brought him before you, otherwise."

Voldemort studied him for a few seconds before saying, "He is not ready to take my Mark."

Severus's face fell. He felt as if a knife had been plunged into his chest, and he suddenly experienced an inexplicable urge to cry. The Dark Lord didn't want him… In fact, _no one_ did. He wasn't fit for _anything_! He was useless! His entire existence was pointless! And all the time he'd spent studying and practicing the Dark Arts had been a waste…

"Oh, well… certainly, my Lord," said Lucius anxiously. "If you feel that he is unfit, I… that is… forgive my mistake… I… I apologize for my presumption in bringing him—"

"I did not indicate that he is _unfit_, Lucius," said Voldemort coldly. "I said that he is _unready_. That can be changed."

Lucius fell silent and looked down at his feet.

Voldemort looked at Severus appraisingly. "I require a potion…"

Severus perked up immediately. If there was _one_ thing he was confident about, it was this. Off the top of his head, he couldn't even _think_ of a potion which would prove too difficult for him. Elated, he said, "Of course, my Lord. Which potion?"

"V_enenum Infusco Animus_," answered Voldemort, with something like a smile playing on his thin lips.

Severus blanched. He could _feel_ the color draining from his face.

Wide-eyed, he stared at Voldemort as if he had transformed into some sort of unfathomable, alien creature. An _impossible_ potion. The Dark Lord wanted an impossible potion. _But it can't be done!_ he thought wildly. _What will he do to me when he finds out that it __**can't be done**?!_

"Do you know it?" asked Voldemort.

Severus swallowed convulsively several times before he could speak. "I… I know _of_ it, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded. "A small quantity will be sufficient. I suggest you use the remainder of your holiday preparing." It wasn't really a _suggestion_. "Since you are not of age, you will be unable to formally begin until school resumes."

"Y-yes, my Lord," Severus stammered.

"You will also begin training at this time."

"Training…?"

"You will work with Lucius – and whomever else he sees fit to involve. When he believes you are prepared – and when the potion has been satisfactorily completed – you will return to me. By no later than mid-December."

_December?_ thought Severus. _How can I do all of __**that**__ by December if I won't even be able to __**start**__ until September!_

"And Severus…"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Do not disappoint me."

**.2.**

A few minutes later, Lucius Apparated both of them back to Malfoy Manor. Severus stood in the parlor, breathing heavily and fighting the urge to be violently ill. He was terrified. Only three months in which to brew that _impossible_ potion? There would be no room for error. And training sessions? There would be no time for school. He would fail – he would be killed! There was no other possible outcome. Nauseated, he looked up at Lucius, who obviously hadn't noticed Severus's reaction to his assignment. He looked positively delighted.

"A potion!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "He just wants you to train with us and then brew a _potion_! I was afraid he would subject you to some kind of test. Can you believe our luck?"

"Luck?" said Severus incredulously. "_Luck_? Are you _insane_?! That potion can't be brewed!"

Frowning, Lucius asked, "What are you talking about? _Any_ potion can be brewed."

"Yes, in _theory_! But I can't make that potion! It's been banned for _hundreds_ of years!"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "And _how_ is that a problem? You act as if you've never brewed a banned potion before."

"How the _hell_ am I even supposed to figure out all the ingredients?"

"In a damn _book_, I expect. Honestly, Severus—"

"It's not that simple! There _are_ no books which give detailed descriptions of that potion."

"Of course there are," replied Lucius dismissively. "Just check the restricted sec—"

"You think I'll find instructions at _Hogwarts_? I'd be shocked to locate a book containing that sort of information on this _continent_!"

"For god's sake, calm _down_! My parents have an extensive collection of Dark Arts books. You can use their library."

"You _don't_ understand, Lucius!" exclaimed Severus, sighing in frustration. "Even if you know the ingredients, it's almost impossible to brew it successfully. The entire process is horribly gruesome, and—"

"If this potion is so horrible and rare, why do _you_ know about it?"

"My mother told me," answered Severus uncomfortably.

Lucius raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. He knew that Severus had never willingly discussed his family. "Well, what does it do, anyway? And what's the English name for it? I've never heard anyone refer to a potion exclusively by its Latin name."

"There _is_ no English name. Well… technically, I suppose there is. But no one _calls_ it by the English name. That's how arcane and obscure and _dreadful_ it is. The best translation might be 'The Draught of the Blackened Soul' or 'Darkened Soul' or—"

Lucius rolled his eyes again. "How _embarrassingly_ melodramatic."

"It's not _embarrassing_!" snapped Severus. "It's _awful_."

"What does it _do_?"

Severus struggled to remember. "Mother said… she said it was used for torture. It's thousands of years old…"

"Oh, the _horror_," said Lucius sarcastically. "If you have a problem with _torture_, Severus, you really should have told me sooner. What the hell do you think the Cruciatus Curse is? You don't get all squeamish when we talk about _that_."

"But that's just _physical_ torture. This is… worse. It produces… vivid, appalling hallucinations. All your worst fears, all your nightmares – they become real. Even the things you don't consciously know you're afraid of. And it has a synesthetic effect, so you don't _just_ experience these things in auditory and visual ways. I mean, you see them and hear them, of course, but you also taste them and smell them and _feel_ them. It's like... like your fears are crawling across your skin and creeping through your veins. It's a feeling of invasion – like everything that terrifies you has become an inextricable _part_ of you, and—"

"Severus, that doesn't make _any_ sense."

"Well, I can't describe it properly!" he snarled. "There aren't very many recorded descriptions. The potion isn't _inherently_ fatal, but a lot of people die from it. They don't realize what they're doing, so they jump from great heights or slam their heads against walls repeatedly until they crack open their skulls. A lot of times, their hearts just… stop. And even when a victim survives the potion, it almost universally induces madness."

"Almost?"

"The only way to survive with your mind intact is to… fight it. I don't know _how_, but apparently it can be done. There's no antidote. There are probably existing records _somewhere_…"

"So it just turns you into a lunatic? Then why do they call it 'blackened soul'? What's so _black_ or _dark_ about crazy people's souls?"

"How the hell should I know? I didn't name it! I don't really understand. But even the people who manage to preserve their sanity end up—"

"Okay, okay, fine," said Lucius impatiently, "but that's not important – it's not our concern. What _is_ important is that you brew it correctly. If you fail, we'll _both_ be in a lot of trouble. When I brought you before the Dark Lord, I assured him you were—"

"But I _can't_! I don't know how—"

"Well, I _suggest_ you figure it out," said Lucius shortly. "Stop panicking. We'll look in my family's library, and I'm sure we'll come up with something."

"I doubt it."

"Well… why don't you just ask your mother? She obviously knows something about it."

"Oh god," said Severus wearily. "My _mother_…?"

**.2.**

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We'll be back in the present in chapter 3. In the long run, there won't necessarily be a flashback every other chapter, but I'm not sure how I'm going to organize things at first... 

**Anyway, thanks for reading. And please review – writing drama feels sooo weird to me, and I'd like to know whether I'm making a mess of it. (I'd _especially_ like to know if I'm _not_ making a mess of it!)**

EDIT: Heh, okay, so I obviously don't know where Hogwarts is. Scotland, apparently. As you can see, I pay no attention to... _anything_.


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